Down Mexico Way
by LadyofDodge
Summary: It wasn't exactly a sound that alerted Kitty's senses, but more the absence of sound. Not the delicate sound of silence, but the heavier sound of non-silence. A presence. That was it. She could feel it. She wasn't the only one in her room. This story is an ATC for the episode "Zavala."


**Down Mexico Way**

 **An ATC for "Zavala"**

Kitty Russell climbed wearily up the stairs to her suite of rooms above the Long Branch Saloon. It had been a busy night, and she was looking forward to the sanctuary those ornately decorated rooms provided—escape from the raucous noise and the rising clouds of smoke and the pawing hands of drunken cowboys. It was all part of the game, part of the operation that made her the most successful business woman in Dodge City, and one of the most successful in all of western Kansas for that matter. But it was draining, exhausting work, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she passed through the heavy drape at the end of the hall and unlocked the door to her private refuge.

Completely at ease in the dark, she crossed the familiar space to a small side table, struck a match and turned up the wick on the oil lamp, watching the shadows on the wall grow larger as the flame heightened. She poured a generous glass of brandy from a crystal decanter, kicked off her shoes and settled onto the settee, her feet tucked under her full skirts, her drink in her hand. She leaned her head back against the velvet upholstery, relishing the stillness. Another swallow of brandy, another sigh. Ah, solitude!

It wasn't exactly a sound that alerted her minutes later, but more the absence of sound. Not the delicate sound of silence, but the heavier sound of non-silence. A presence. That was it. She could feel it. She wasn't the only one there.

Her senses attuned, her weariness forgotten, she placed her glass on the table, careful not to make any noise. Not bothering to put on her shoes, she stood and patted her right side, reassuring herself that the pearl handled derringer concealed in the hidden pocket of her skirt was there. While she didn't usually feel the need for protection, the past two weeks had seen lots of shady looking strangers in town, and she had been carrying the small gun when she worked the barroom floor. Festus and Newly were good men, but they weren't Matt, and with him out of town, she felt better just knowing the little gun was there.

As quietly as possible, she crossed the floor of the sitting room and turned the knob on the bedroom door. The room was in total darkness, but a brief flicker of light from the sitting room revealed the outline of something—or someone—on top of the flowered quilt. She crept closer, fingers closing around the handle of the small gun as she eased it from her pocket and aimed, just as the form on the bed let out a sound that was somewhere between a snore and a groan and turned over.

"Matt!" A combination of fear, anger, and relief colored her tone, making her voice sharp. "I damned near shot you. What are you doing here?" She lit the bedside lamp, tossed the gun into the drawer of the small table next to the bed and took a long look at the lawman. Dirty, unshaven and spread-eagled on the bed, she thought he must be either sick or hurt, maybe both, and her heart went out to him. The smell of whiskey grew stronger as she sat down on the edge of the bed, and she considered the possibility that, unlikely as it seemed, he might also be drunk. She touched his face. "Matt." Her voice was softer this time. "Matt, what's wrong?"

She watched him slowly open his eyes and work at focusing them. "Kitty." The hint of a tiny smile touched his lips before his head lolled to the side and sleep again claimed him. She shook her head, her fear and anger momentarily forgotten. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Cowboy, but in the meantime, guess we might as well get you cleaned up." She turned away to gather the things she would need, then glanced back at the bed. "Although I doubt you're going to be much help."

She poured water into a flowered china basin, picked up a soft washcloth and her lemon verbena soap, and set to work washing the face and neck of the man she loved. She leaned closer, wrinkling her nose. "You must have been living in these clothes for weeks. Let's get this shirt off of you." As she worked her way down the buttons of his shirtfront, she noticed that the left side was caked with dried blood in some spots, damp with fresh blood in others. She peeled the filthy shirt from his body, revealing a massive chest peppered with scars of old wounds and a fresh one—two fresh ones, actually—low on his left side. "Oh, Matt, what happened to you? This time," she added.

As she worked, he roused again and his hand moved to cover hers. He turned his head toward her. "You don't have to do that, Kitty."

"I _do_ have to do it, Matt. You're hurt, and Doc's not here. He's out at the Donaldson farm waiting on a baby. And Newly had to ride out to Fort Dodge, so I'm afraid I'm the best medical attention you're going to get in this town tonight."

"Prettiest, too," he smirked and tried to pull her against his chest.

"Oh, no you don't. Not now. Let's get you cleaned up and see how that wound looks. Can you get your pants off or do you need help?"

The look he gave her was bleary eyed and exasperated. "Kitty, I've been dressing and undressing myself since I was four."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, noticing that at some point before collapsing he had already removed his boots and gunbelt. Now she watched him tug at the big silver belt buckle and unbutton his pants. He lifted his hips to slide the pants down his legs, but the movement tore at his side and he grimaced in pain. "Maybe I _could_ use a little help," he grinned sheepishly.

"I don't suppose you had too many bullet wounds in the side when you were four," she answered sarcastically, carefully maneuvering the dirt-encrusted pants over his flat hips and down his long legs. "So, you want to tell me how this happened?"

He struggled not to wince or groan as she wiped the wet cloth over his injured side, scrubbing as gently as possible at the caked blood and dirt that surrounded the wound. "Got shot," he forced out between gritted teeth. "Right after I got to Zavala. Just a graze, really." He braced himself for the sting of the alcohol. "Hey, that hurts! Then, when I was on my way home, only about twenty miles south of the border, I got ambushed. Shot again. Pretty much the same spot as the first time." He squirmed as if to move away from the sting. "Dang it, Kitty, why don't you just set fire to my skin?"

"I'm trying not to hurt you, but I need to get this thing cleaned out. That first one looks like it had pretty good care, and I think it's going to be okay. I'm not so sure about this newer one, though. It's dirty, and I think it might be infected. I'm dousing it with as much alcohol as I can to keep it from getting worse." She re-positioned the lamp to better see what she was doing. "So, who dressed the first wound?"

"A señora." His reply was casual. "In Zavala."

"Looks like she did a good job. And I suppose the minute she tied the bandage, you rode right back out to get shot again?"

"Not exactly. Ben Rawlins was somewhere in the area—or was expected to be. It was his brother who shot me—the first time, so I hung around a few days waiting for Ben to show up."

"You get him?"

"Which one?"

"The brother, the one who shot you."

"Yeah, I got him."

"You kill him?"

"Yup."

"And then you stayed with the señora waiting for Rawlins to show up?"

He nodded his head against the pillow. "Yeah."

"Does she have a name?"

"Her name is Amelita, and her son's name is Paco, and, before you ask, he was there the entire time. We built a chicken coop together and took care of a few other things that needed fixing."

"Is she pretty?"

He considered this a moment before answering. "Yeah, she is pretty—or she would be if there was any sparkle in her eyes, any warmth in her smile. Life hasn't been kind to her, Kitty. Her husband was murdered, and she was being used by the man who did it."

"And I suppose you felt it your duty to take care of him, too—since you happened to be in the neighborhood?"

"You know how I feel about men who abuse women."

"I do, Matt. But you were in Mexico. Their ways are not our ways, their laws are not our laws, and you have no jurisdiction down there. No wonder you got shot."

"Doesn't matter. She's a woman who needed to be protected—and respected. Paco tries, but he's just a kid. I hope things will be better for them now." He grimaced again. "Aren't you about finished with that?"

She patted his stomach and side dry with a clean towel and answered, "As a matter of fact, I am. Except for a bandage. Stay still, I'll be right back." She returned a minute later with a clean cloth and a few strips of material to tie it in place. "That should hold you 'til Doc can take a look at it. I did the best I can, but I can't guarantee that I have Amelita's touch."

"Kitty.…"

She set the basin aside and leaned over to kiss his stubbled cheek. "It's all right, Matt. Now, are you able to sit in the chair for a few minutes while I change the sheets and clean up this mess?"

()()()()()()()

Twenty minutes later, after checking once again to ensure that the bandage she had fashioned out of a soft pillow case was secure over both wounds, Kitty pulled the chair Matt had just vacated closer to the bed and settled in. Reassured that he was basically all right, her mind returned to the fright he had given her. "Okay, Matt, you want to tell me why you were hiding out in my room, guzzling whiskey and bleeding all over my bed?"

Surprise registered on his face, but all he said was, "It wasn't like that, Kitty."

"No? What part did I get wrong?" Fright quickly gave way to anger.

He pushed out a sigh. "First of all, I wasn't hiding. I came into town the back way and went directly to the stable. Moss took one look at me and said Doc wasn't around. He took m'horse and told me to get cleaned up and get some sleep."

"It didn't occur to you to stop downstairs and let me know you were coming up here? I thought you were an intruder, Matt. I had my finger on the trigger all set to…." Her voice trailed off, unable to complete that thought.

He nodded. "It occurred to me, but I thought I must look pretty bad for Moss to say something, so I figured I'd come up here, clean up, then go back down and come in the front door." He paused a moment and then added, "And I wasn't guzzling your whiskey. Honest. I did pour a drink, but…well, I was feeling a little dizzy and that bed looked mighty inviting, so I thought I'd lay down, just for a minute. That's when I spilled the whiskey." He looked chagrined. "And then…well, that's about all I remember 'til you came in." He shifted gingerly into a more comfortable position and added, "Kitty, are you mad at me?"

She thought a moment before responding. "No, I'm not mad, not exactly. But I've been worrying about you for the last month, wondering where you were and if you were all right. Now I find out you've been cavorting around Mexico with a pretty señora and building chicken coops with a little boy! It's rather irritating, Matt."

"And getting shot, don't forget getting shot," he added with a slight grin, placing his hand over his freshly bandaged side. Using his other hand, he reached for her arm and pulled her toward the bed. "I didn't mean to worry you, Kitty. Anyway, I'm back now. You'll stay with me tonight?"

She smiled into the plaintive blue eyes. "Considering that you're in my bed, you bet I'm staying. And you're taking up more than half of it by the way, so scoot over, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

()()()()()()()

Kitty settled in beside the lawman she loved, her back resting lightly against his chest. She felt his lips brush against the back of her neck, and then a low voice said, "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you, Kitty. Did something happen while I was away?"

She shook her head.

"If it's about Amelita, you know I wouldn't…."

She shook her head again.

"Well… if it's about the chicken coop, I'll build one for you, too, honey, if that's what you want."

This time she twisted to face him and responded with a giggle. "I don't want a chicken coop, Matt, and I know nothing happened with Amelita." She touched his face. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Cowboy. You're not the one I'm mad at."

"Then…?"

"Me. I'm upset with myself, Matt. I nearly killed you a little while ago, and that's…that's kinda hard for me to deal with." She swallowed a sob and shuddered into silence.

"But you didn't kill me, honey. I'm right here, alive and ready to hold you and love you same as always, if you'll just let me." His hand caressed the warm spot where the soft cotton nightgown covered her hip.

"But I could have. Could have killed you I mean. God, Matt, do you have any idea how it feels to almost kill someone, even by mistake? Do you know how badly that scared me?"

"Yeah, Kitty, I do." His voice was soft, sad. "Only too well." She felt strong arms wrap around her. "Get some sleep, honey. Everything will look better in the morning."

The End


End file.
